


rain check

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Beach House, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Married Couple, Skating, Thunder and Lightning, Trans Male Character, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23919889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: “You son of a bitch,” Richie spits at him. He looks like a giraffe on wheels trying to stand up on his skates, and Eddie just laughs at him, skating a circle around him easily before pulling away.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 139





	rain check

**Author's Note:**

> a gift for my friends over on twitter, who gave me the following prompts for this:  
> \- laying in bed during a rainstorm  
> \- crudely constricted gravity bong  
> \- homemade bread  
> \- an original Blondie vinyl   
> \- rock ‘em sock ‘em robots  
> \- the red speedo from the x files  
> \- roller skating eddie  
> \- one of them listening 2 the other ones heartbeat  
> \- eddie wearing richie's shirts  
> \- casual touches  
> \- trans eddie

Eddie tends to overwork, but he is  _ not  _ the only one in his household who does. Richie is  _ just  _ as guilty of pulling long hours, staying absurdly late to get scripts just right, working and reworking bits and sketches with the other dedicated dumbasses he calls staff writers until Eddie calls him home. They’re  _ both  _ workaholics who genuinely enjoy staying busy, mostly because they can’t imagine life slowed down.

Eddie still wants time alone with Richie, though.

He didn’t like spending time alone with Myra all that much, so he got a habit of staying late at work that’s hard to shake, now that it’s just the way his brain works. He and Richie have to actively plan for time to spend together or else they just keep forgetting until they’re both about to snap.

Which brings them to Malibu, in the heat of July, on a mini-vacation for a week out on the beach together. This one was Richie’s choice, which means Eddie gets to choose their first activity, and he chooses roller-skating.

“You son of a bitch,” Richie spits at him. He looks like a giraffe on wheels trying to stand up on his skates, and Eddie just laughs at him, skating a circle around him easily before pulling away. They’ve spent the whole morning on the beach; Richie’s still in his stupid tight red Speedo that makes Eddie’s palms sweat, his linen shirt patterned with bright red and pink flowers and unbuttoned to reveal his sunburnt and hairy chest underneath.

Eddie skates closer, running his hand down the center of Richie’s chest, from the hollow beneath his throat down to his belly. He leans up to kiss him before skating away again. Richie reaches out for him, and Eddie reaches back, their fingers brushing as he skates away.

“Can you at least try not to make this harder than it needs to be?” Richie demands. He’s already cracking a smile, so Eddie just keeps grinning as he takes him by the hand and starts guiding him forward. He helps him find his center of balance, keeps him steady; he manages to get into a rhythm, so Eddie releases him.

“Is that better?” Eddie asks.

_ “No,”  _ Richie says. Eddie skates ahead of him, then turns around, skating backwards so he can keep an eye on Richie. Richie just rolls his eyes at him. “You fucking show-off. I  _ meant  _ it’s kind of hard to fucking skate when I’m now nearly seven feet off the ground, on wheels,  _ and  _ you’re skating around like that with your ass all like that,  _ c’mon,  _ dude.”

Eddie laughs. He’s got another one of Richie’s big linen shirts on, pale blue and unbuttoned and hanging open, patterned with moons and suns and stars and clouds. His packer is still in place in his little swim shorts; the combination of that with his flat, muscular chest under Richie’s shirt makes him feel euphoric as he holds his hands out to Richie again.

“I’ll just stay facing this way, then,” Eddie says. He slows them down and pulls Richie in for a light kiss before skating back and releasing Richie again. Richie scrambles, trying to reach out and grab him, so Eddie lets him tangle their fingers together until he has his balance back.

“I get to pick what we do next,” Richie tells him.

“And what’ll that be?” Eddie asks. He skates a circle around Richie once, then twice, trailing his fingertips across his chest, then his back. Richie nearly trips over his skates.

“This is  _ dangerous,  _ you know,” Richie says. “You’re putting me in  _ danger  _ doing this.”

“You’ll live,” Eddie says. “What’re we gonna do next?”

“We’re going to go back to the beach and make out,” Richie tells him. In the distance, there’s a low rumble; Eddie slows his pace again so he can look up without losing his balance to see a dark grey cloud cover creeping over the ocean towards them.

“Oh, no,” Eddie says. Richie turns to look and stumbles again; Eddie catches him around the shoulders and pushes him back upright, bringing them both to a stop.

“Ruh-roh,” Richie comments, keeping himself uneasily upright so he can watch the impending clouds rushing closer. “Fuck, those shitheads are  _ flying.” _

There’s another rumble of thunder before Eddie sees a bolt of lightning crack down over the shore a ways away. A wind rushes past them, sending the palm trees tilting sideways. Eddie needs to catch his sunglasses before they blow off his face; Richie slams his hand up to cover his prescription sunglasses so they don’t fly off, too.

“Alright, let’s go back to the Airbnb,” Eddie says. “The quicker we get back, the better chance we have of getting back dry.”

“Sounds good,” Richie replies, hesitantly turning like a dog in socks, lifting his feet up and placing them down heavily so he doesn’t fall. He gets turned one-eighty degrees and turns back to Eddie. “Gimme a push, big guy, c’mon, we’re running outta time here.”

Eddie laughs and gives him a good shove, pushing off himself and tugging him along with his fingers locked in a bracelet around Richie’s wrist. The clouds are filling the sky so quickly it’s nearly getting dark, the wind pushing Eddie sideways a bit before Richie pulls him back to block the worst of the wind from getting him.

“Okay, fuck it,” Eddie says. A drop of rain hits him on the nose as he pulls them to a stop. “Skates off, we’re running.”

“You’re overestimating my speed again, man,” Richie comments, but he does as he’s told. As the clouds roll overhead and start to sprinkle, the wind whipping at them, they hurriedly untie their skates and yank them off, sitting on the curb. Countless others are doing the same around him; still more are screaming and running for cover with their babies and their paperback books.

With their skates tied together and slung around Richie’s shoulders, the two of them start running for home. The ground’s starting to get slick, stone and sand growing damp under their feet, so Eddie makes himself stick to Richie’s pace so neither of them slips. He stops hearing other people shouting as the rain picks up, rushing in his ears as they run.

Richie slips his hand into Eddie’s and calls to him, “We’re down this way, right?”

Eddie isn’t sure, because all his landmarks are covered up by the wind and rain whipping into their faces. He looks around until he finds a street sign and points up to it, shouting, “Yup, yes, it’s this one!”

Richie pulls him down the road, his wet hair whipping into his face. Eddie only releases Richie’s hand so he can dig the key to their Airbnb out of the pocket of his tight shorts, stuck to his skin with rainwater. It takes some doing, but he manages to get them out just as they run up to the door.

“C’mon,  _ c’mon,”  _ Richie rushes him. Eddie pushes him off and crams the key in the lock, using his shoulder to shove the door. They both spill into the entryway, ankles tangled enough that Richie slips and nearly slams into the ground before Eddie yanks him back upright.

“Jesus  _ fucking  _ Christ,” Eddie spits. He just shakes his head, whipping wet curls back out of his face and spraying the walls with little droplets. Richie shakes his own hair out like a dog.

“Wanna shower?” Richie asks. Eddie nods, peeling his wet shorts off right there in the entryway so he can get it and his packer to stop chafing him. He only jumps in the shower to rinse off with the warm rush from the showerhead before he lets Richie take it and wash out his hair.

Eddie just wanders around their little one-floor Airbnb while Richie’s in the shower. He throws on underwear and another one of Richie’s shirts. This one’s an oversized t-shirt that says  _ two-seater  _ with one arrow pointing up and another arrow pointing down. It’s ridiculous and Eddie hates it on principle. He has to, both because it’s true and because Richie gives him the warmest, stupidest looks when he wears it.

The place is right on the beach and apparently hasn’t been updated since the early ‘80s. He finds an old record player with a bunch of vinyl records stacked beside it, including  _ Eat to the Beat, _ which he immediately puts on for Richie to hear when he comes back out. There’s even a bunch of board games in the closet, along with a nearly-busted old Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots game.

He brings all his findings out to the place’s tiny living room just as Richie steps into the room, toweling off his hair. He smiles when he sees what Eddie’s done, and laughs when he hears the music.

“Oh, shit, is this Blondie?” Richie asks. “Fucking  _ Blondie?  _ What  _ is  _ this place?”

“A time machine,” Eddie tells him. “Look what I found.”

“Holy  _ shit,  _ no fucking  _ way,”  _ Richie exclaims, snatching up the Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots. “Dibs on red.”

“You jackass,  _ I  _ want red,” Eddie argues.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” Richie says.

“No,  _ I’m  _ red, I’m  _ always  _ red.” Eddie gets up while he’s saying it, grabbing the loaf of banana walnut bread Richie baked and brought with them off the counter in the little kitchen alcove. Eddie’s been trying to try new foods that he didn’t eat before without making a big deal of it; he’s glad when Richie doesn’t comment, just taking the slice Eddie hands to him and tearing it in half with his teeth.

“You are not  _ always  _ red, you’re just dramatic,” Richie insists. Eddie rolls his eyes.

“I’m red because  _ I’m red,”  _ Eddie reminds him. “And you’re blue because—”

A huge crack of lightning fills the room with white light before a tremendous  _ boom  _ of thunder and a crash outside bring complete darkness, the power slamming off. They’re instantly thrust into the pitch dark.

“Well,” Richie says. “Now they’re both a kind of fuzzy grey so I guess it really doesn’t matter.”

“I’m gonna see if there’s any candles in the kitchen,” Eddie tells him, pushing away from the couch to dig through the junk drawers barely two yards away. Richie shadows him, finding a lighter in another drawer. Eddie unearths a couple of long candles only a moment later.

They end up in the bedroom with it all, on the side of the tiny house that’s facing the beach. Eddie lights the candles while Richie uses a pair of scissors he brought from the kitchen to cut up two ginger ale bottles and crudely construct a gravity bong with them and some tinfoil.

“You’re such white fucking trash,” Eddie comments. Richie lights the ground flower on the tinfoil and lets the smoke fill the bottle before he pulls it all separate and offers it up to Eddie. They’re both white trash, so he rips it like he has since they were fifteen.

In bed, pleasantly high and warmly dry and reaching out for Richie to tug him under the covers, Eddie feels more content than he thinks he has in a month. Richie yawns once he’s under the thin sheet, burying his face in Eddie’s damp hair; Eddie tilts his head up to kiss the underside of his jaw before he shuffles down to settle his head down on Richie’s chest.

Outside, he can hear the rain pouring down and the wind whipping leaves and knocking down street signs. The rain is pouring-loud and rushing down the roof while thunder booms every minute or so, so loud it makes Eddie’s ears ring each time it stops again. Above all of that, he can hear the waves crashing outside, rising higher and higher before slamming into the shore, tumultuous with the storm raging above them.

Most of all, though, he can hear the even beating of Richie’s heart. He’s lazily combing his fingers through Eddie’s hair, humming a little to himself as he listens to the sounds outside, too. Eddie lifts his head a bit so he can see Richie’s profile, flickering in the candlelight. He only looks for a moment before settling back down over his heart again.

“Love you,” Eddie murmurs. He can  _ feel _ Richie smile.

“Love you more,” Richie replies, kissing the top of his head. The storm keeps raging outside while the dark warmth fills them both up inside, and Eddie shuts his eyes, listening to the  _ thump, thump, thump  _ until it’s all he can hear.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicolelianesolo](https://twitter.com/nicolelianesolo) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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